The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“It wasn’t easy,” Royce grumbled. “I learned to hate dwarves on that job. Well there and…” he trailed off rubbing his left shoulder absently.

“It will be the harvest moon in a few weeks. Maybe we we’ll catch the show on the way back,” Wyatt said.

The lookout announced the sighting of sails. Several ships clustered under the safety of the fort, but they were so far out that only their topsails showed.

“I would have expected the captain to have ordered a course change by now. He’s letting us get awfully close.”

“Drumindor can’t shoot this far, can she?” Hadrian asked.

“No, but the fortress isn’t the only danger,” Wyatt pointed out. “It isn’t safe for an imperial vessel to linger in these waters. Delgos isn’t officially at war with us, but everyone knows the DeLurs support the Nationalists and—well—accidents can happen.”





***




They continued sailing due south. It was not until the point was well astern and nearly out of sight that the captain appeared on the quarterdeck. Now, at least they would discover which direction the Emerald Storm would go.

“Heave-to, Mister Bishop!” he ordered.

“Back the main’sl!” Bishop shouted, and the men sprang into action.

This was the first time Hadrian had heard these particular orders and he was glad that, as ship’s cook, he was not required to carry them out. It did not take long for him to see what was happening. Backing the mainsail caused it to catch the wind on its forward side. If the fore and mizzenmasts were also backed, the ship would sail in reverse. Since they remained trimmed as they were, the force of the wind lay balanced between them, leaving the ship stationary on the water.

Once the ship was heaved-to the captain ordered a reading on the ship’s position, then disappeared once more into his cabin, leaving Lieutenant Bishop on the quarterdeck.

“So much for picking a direction,” Hadrian muttered to himself.

They remained stationary for the rest of that day. At sunset, Captain Seward ordered lights hauled aloft, but nothing further slipped his lips.

Hadrian served supper, boiled salt pork stew again. Even he was tired of his menu, but the only complaints came from the recently pressed who were not yet hardened to the conformities of life at sea. Hadrian suspected most of the veterans on board would demand salt pork and biscuits even on land rather than break the routine.

“He ez a murderer, dat ez why!”

Hadrian heard Staul shout as he entered the below deck with the last of the evening meals. The Tenkin was standing slightly crouched in the center of the crews’ quarters. His dark tattooed body and rippling muscles were revealed as he removed his shirt. In his right hand, he held a knife. A cloth wrapped his left fist. His chest heaved with excitement, a mad grin on his face, and a sinister glare in his eyes.

In front of Staul stood Royce.

“He ked Edgar Drew. Everyone knows et. Now, he’ll be dee one to die, eh?”

Royce stood casually, his hands loosely clasped before him as if he were just one of the bystanders—except—his eyes never left the knife. Royce followed it as a cat might watch the movement of a string. It only took Hadrian a second to see why. Staul was holding the knife by the blade. On a hunch, Hadrian scanned the room and found Defoe standing behind and to Royce’s left, a hand hidden behind his back.

Staul took his attention off Royce for a moment, but Hadrian noticed his weight shift to his rear foot and hoped his friend noticed as well. An instant later Staul threw the knife. The blade flew with perfect accuracy, only when it arrived the thief was not there and the tip buried itself in a deck post.

All eyes were on Staul as he bristled with rage, shouting curses. Hadrian forced himself to ignore the Tenkin and searched for Defoe. He had moved. Spotting the glint of a blade in the crowd, he found him again. Defoe had slipped up behind Royce and lunged. Royce spun. Not taken in by the plot, he faced his old guild mate with the blade Staul had provided. Defoe halted mid-step, hesitated, then backed away melting into the crowd. Hadrian doubted anyone else noticed his involvement.

“Ah! You dance well!” Staul shouted and laughed. “Dat ez good. Perhaps next time you trip, eh?”

The excitement over, the crowd broke up. As they did, Jacob Derning muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Good to see I’m not the only one who thinks he killed poor Drew.”

“Royce,” Hadrian called, keeping his eyes focused on Jacob. “Perhaps you should take your meal up on the deck where it’s cooler.”





***




“That was pleasant,” Hadrian said, after the two had safely reached the galley and closed the door behind them.

“What was?” Poe asked, dishing out the last of the stew for the midshipmen.

“Oh, nothing really. A few crewmen just tried to murder Royce.”

“What?” Poe almost dropped the whole kettle.

“Now, can I kill people?” Royce asked, stepping into the corner and putting his back against the wall. He had an evil look on his face.

“Who tried to murder him?”

“Defoe,” Royce replied. “So, what am I supposed to do now? Lie awake at night waiting for him and his buddies—I’m sorry, his mates—to knife me?”

“Who’s Defoe?”

“Poe, would it be possible for Royce and I to sleep in here at night?”

“In the galley? I suppose. Won’t be too comfortable, but if Royce is always on time for his watch, and if you tell Mister Bishop you want him to help with the night time boils, he might allow it.”

“Great, I’ll do that. While I’m gone, Poe, can you go below and get us a couple of hammocks that we can hang in here. Royce, maybe you can rig a lock for the door?”

“It’s better than being bait.”

“Who’s Defoe?”





***




Royce worked both the second dogwatch and the first watch, which kept him aloft from sunset until midnight. By the time he returned, Hadrian had obtained permission for Royce to sleep in the galley, and Poe had moved up what little gear they had and strung two hammocks between the walls of the narrow room.

“How is it?” the thief asked entering the darkened galley and finding Hadrian hanging in the netting.

“Hmm?” he asked waking up. “Oh, okay I guess. The room is too narrow for me so I feel like I’m being bent in half, but it should be fine for you. How was your watch? Did you see Defoe?”

“Never took my eyes off old Bernie,” he said, grinning and dodging a pot that hung from the overhead beam. Hadrian knew Royce must have enjoyed a bit of revenge on Defoe. If there was ever a place where Royce held an advantage, it was a hundred feet in the air dangling from beams and ropes in the dar of night.

Hadrian shifted his weight causing his hammock to swing. “What did you do?”

“Actually, I didn’t do anything, but that was what drove him crazy. He’s still sweating.”

“So he did recognize you.”